


Hold Still Right Before We Crash

by steelneena



Series: Depressing Swanfire Oneshots [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, I made myself sad, Major character death - Freeform, Swanfire - Freeform, eight pages of pure anguish, if you want something uplifting, seriously, this is really really sad, you should NOT be reading this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:58:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/steelneena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Mendell was the first visitor from the outside, but he wasn't the last. Emma's day is interrupted by a mysterious stranger who brings nothing but bad news and grief to two of Storybrooke's most prominent residents: Emma herself and the unflappable Mr. Gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an AU of season 2 and occurs during 2.12 "In the Name of the Brother" after Emma talks with Greg and before Rumplestiltskin reminds her of the favour.  
> I have used some direct dialogue from the episode towards the end, and two-ish lines of Neal's dialogue from another episode, though it's implemented in a different way.  
> I make no apologies. You read the warnings and chose to read anyways.  
> Mostly written to "You Could By Happy" by Snow Patrol on repeat, but the title is from Clarity, by Zedd.

After the fiasco with Greg Mendell, Emma didn't think the day could get any worse. But then, another car came into town, this time without causing an accident. She didn't know about it, of course, until the driver himself walked into the Sheriff's Department where she was finishing up some last minute paperwork. Emma had to at least pretend that things ran semi-normally in the strange little town. 

"Hi, are you the Sheriff?" The stranger asked. He was tall, maybe six foot, and had dark skin and eyes. 

"I am," She countered, mildly on the defensive. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a woman named Emma Swan. I have some business of a legal matter with her," His tone was businesslike, even, but clipped.

Emma's brow furrowed. "Well you're speaking with her. What business is it? And how did you know I was here?"He took a postcard from his coat pocket and dropped it on the desk. 

"My name is Devin Thompson. I'm a lawyer, in from Manhattan. I was told I could find you in the place depicted in this postcard. I'm here to execute a will," At his words, Emma noticed the briefcase and a cardboard box under his arm, which he then placed on the chair on the other side of her desk. 

"Please take a seat," She said, still hesitant. He clicked open the briefcase, and removed a manila envelope, from which he produced a letter, and handed it to her without adieu. 

"My instructions are to give you this check, and to get your word that you'll deposit it. Will you do so?"

"Um, yes?"

"Good. My second set of instructions is to give you this letter, and this envelop, the contents of which will be explained, I assume, in the letter. The same goes for the cardboard box," 

"That's it?" She asked, curiously bemused. 

"You're supposed to read the letter. Those were the instructions outlined in the will,"

Emma narrowed her eyes, suspicion brewing in the back of her mind, but she took the letter, which wasn't addressed, and tore it open with her fingernail.  
It was on lined paper, she noted, unfolding it.

_Emma,_

  
_I no longer reserve the right to call you dear. I think you'd hit me if I tried. Actually, I don't think. I know. This letter, all of things, must come as a shock to you. I don't know how old we might be when you eventually receive this. No one can know how old they'll be when they die, but I did some thinking recently. And this is what I want. I want you to have this letter, and everything that comes along with it._

The Sheriff blanched in shock. She reread the first paragraph three times, before she was certain. She would have known his handwriting anywhere, from the careful way he'd written notes in the margins of books, from the way he curved his capital E's when he wrote her name.  
She felt sick to her stomach, but continued to read.

 _A week back, I received a postcard in the mail from our mutual acquaintance, August Booth, saying that you'd done what you needed to do. That you'd found your family. August isn't my friend, and I guess he wasn't really yours either. Back in Portland, he confronted me. Blackmailed me into leaving you._  
_I met up with him again a few months later. He told me that you were settled and moved on. That's when I gave him the car, and the money, to pass along to you. I did a little checking after he sent me the postcard, and found out what he'd done. I never wanted that for you. I didn't know. I didn't know he called the cops. I'm sorry. I didn't look any farther than that. I chickened out, just like I did when he threatened me. I can never make it right, what I did back then, but I'd gladly have taken your sentence for you. I deserved it. I can never apologize enough, and I'll never be able to say it to you in person, but my words are all I have to give you. I wanted to look for you, but I was too afraid that you wouldn't forgive me because I never forgave myself. There hasn't been a day that's gone by that I don't regret having left you._

_I justified it by thinking that didn't want to walk into your life and disrupt everything. I didn't have the right, not after what I did. I debated a long time over even writing this letter, making these changes to my will. But I didn't want to go without taking care of unfinished business._  
  
_Did you go to Tallahassee? Have you found it with someone else?_

_You could be happy. I really, really hope you are. That's all I want._

_So there's a couple of things that need to happen. This is a part of my last will and testament. You'll be getting 20 Grand cash from Devin. It's a bit symbolic I suppose, but if August is half the asshole I figure he must be, then I probably shouldn't have trusted him with the money. I hope at least he gave you the car. And the Key Chain._

_Secondly, there's a box. I'm guessing Devin's given it to you already. Inside are a few of my things. I want you to have the Dreamcatcher. I kept it, all these years, hanging by my window. It was yours to begin with, but I couldn't part with it. It was all I had left of you. It's yours again, to do with as you please. You might throw it away for all I know. What you do with it is your prerogative._

_The other thing in the box is my sketchbook. All the drawings are inside, the ones I never let you see. The top one is of you. I'd like you to keep that one at least. The rest, I'll ask you to burn. There's another letter, though, that says all the things I never told you, or anyone else. My past, my history. You'll be the only one who knows everything and that might change your decision on following through with my request. So, I guess, don't burn them until after you've read the letter. And if you decide not to, then you'll know what to do with them anyways_

_I guess that's it. Devin, my executor, lawyer, coworker and best friend, should take care of everything else. I'm assuming he's already done the transfer of funds. If you're at all curious about where the rest of it went, you can ask him. I won't bore you with details that you probably don't give a shit about anyways._

_I hope you're living your life to the fullest - you always deserved better. From what I'm given to understand, you've got a whole world in one little town, and_ _two of those people are the ones who've missed you and loved you from the moment you were born. I hope it's what you've always wanted._

_Deepest Regards,_

_Neal Cassidy_

Emma felt the unhappy tears, the furious anger at how unfair life was. Here he was again, after all that time, crashing into her world, and yet, still just out of reach. All those years spent, forcing herself to believe that she was _over_ him. That she'd moved past it, got on with her life.  
Emma turned to Devin. 

"How...how did he..." She couldn't bring herself to say it. The words were choking in her throat. 

"There was a woman, Tamara. They'd been dating. I guess she must have been playing him for money, or something. I'm not sure what. Her trial's still coming up. He must have caught on. She shot him in cold blood. The neighbours heard the gunfire and called the cops. They caught her before she left his apartment," The man spoke woodenly, and Emma remembered Neal's description of him in the letter - _best friend_. He was mourning, she could see now. For some reason, Emma desperately wanted to know the details. She wanted to know who this woman was. She wanted to look her in the eyes, and ask her how she could murder a man who was- 

And that was where Emma faltered. 

That emotion that she had so long convinced herself was hate melted away. She didn't have to know the details of Neal's life, post 2001, to know that he was, and had always been a kind person, a gentle soul, a man who felt too deeply, who put every little bit of himself into anything he did, who had generally been the most selfless person she had known. Her estimation of him had long been poisoned by their history, by what he admitted to having done, by what he didn't ask forgiveness for, even in death. 

"He never made it to the hospital," Devin continued. "He died in the ambulance,"

They sat in momentary silence, Emma glancing at the box, which she assumed contained Neal's sketchbook and the Dreatcatcher, in effort not to look at the room's other occupant. Finally, Devin seemed to have come back from wherever he'd gone. Emma spared a moment to wonder if Devin had gotten to the apartment, if he'd been with Neal when...but she dismissed the idea. The only company Neal had had when he passed from this life were the paramedics in the ambulance with him. 

"Look, Ms. Swan, I don't know you. I don't know a damned thing about you. I haven't read that letter, and I don't want to know what it says. Honestly, he never mentioned you once to me. What he didn't say, tells a lot more though, because he suggested to my wife and I that we name our daughter Emma. He's- He was her Godfather. Emma Caroline. She's six. I'll never forget telling her why Uncle Neal wasn't coming to dinner that night,"

Face tightly held in an unmoving facade, Emma looked up, gazing just over his shoulder. She wouldn't think about it. She wouldn't even begin to imagine _Neal with Henry Neal reading books with him Neal talking Henry to the park Neal's smiling eyes as he ruffled Henry's hair_  
Determinedly, Emma banished the images, standing suddenly. 

"I'm sorry for your loss," Her tone was devoid of emotion, but her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. 

The sheriff's office was still. The tick tick ticking of the clock and the hum of the radiator in the background filled the silence. It was as if the moment had frozen in time. 

The illusion shattered when the door opened and Henry bounded into the room. 

"Hey Mom! Guess what happen- who are you?" He cut himself short, rounding on the lawyer. "You're not from Storybrooke, are you?" 

Devin, who had remained sitting up until that moment stood alarmingly quickly as he gazed intensely in shock at Henry before breaking into a chuckle. It was devoid of any humour, and Henry only looked, confused, between the two adults. 

"I just had a similar conversation with Sheriff Swan here," He smiled kindly, if sadly at Henry. "I'm Devin Thompson. I'm a lawyer, and I just delivered your Mom her inheritance. I need a few more private moments with her, if that's alright,"

Henry nodded purposefully. "The reading of a will is a private affair," he recited. "I learned that in a book. I'm sorry for interrupting Mr. Thompson," Henry turned to leave, but Emma didn't miss the inquisitive look he shot her just before disappearing out the door. Immediately she turned to Devin. 

"He doesn't know," She stated simply. 

"And neither did Neal, I take it," He retorted.

"We weren't together when I found out. I was... he _broke my heart!_ I couldn't...I gave Henry up for adoption. He and I only reconnected this past year,"

"He looks a lot like his father," Devin's comment held no accusation, no judgement, like Emma had expected there to be. 

"I know," She lived with it everyday, like a pang in her heart, reminding her why she'd never wanted to see Henry when he was born. Devin cleared his throat.

"So, I can't leave until you at least open the box. That's what he's instructed,"

"He said in the letter that I could ask you about the rest of the estate, if I wanted..."

The Lawyer nodded. "Right. Well, the rest of the money is in two pieces. He left a small trust for my daughter and the rest of it went to the Madison Square Boy's and Girl's Club, where he spent a lot of time volunteering. Some of his personal items he bequeathed to me, my wife and daughter. The rest is for you and I to divvy up. If you want anything beyond what's in that box, you're welcome to take a look. If you don't want to, I'll handle it myself. Some things, I'm sure I'll keep. Anything we don't want he asked to be donated. And that's all he wrote,"he concluded. 

Emma nodded. 

"I...I don't want anything," She decided after a moment. "There isn't really much in that box to begin with, and what is is probably all that's left of our life together. That box, and the car outside," Her hand went to the swan pendant out of habit, worrying at the smooth backing. 

"Right. He has some photo albums, but I guess that wouldn't really mean much to you,"

"No," She wondered, briefly, what he looked like before he died. Was his hair shorter? Did it still curl by his ears? Was he going silver at the temples? Was his smile the same? No, she didn't want to know. She _didn't_. "I suppose I should open this box, then, so you can get out of Podunk, right?" Her laugh was bitter, and Devin didn't smile. She pulled the box across the table, and opened the flaps. There, just as he'd said, was the Dreamcatcher. And, beneath that, the mysterious sketchbook. It had been one of his few frivolous possessions. He'd been given it, he told her, by his first and only foster family. The charcoals that had come with it had long since been worn to nubs, so those he'd lifted from the store from time to time. He'd constantly been drawing. What, Emma never knew. She'd asked once and he refused to tell her. 

Now, she had the license, essentially, to do with them as she pleased. After she read the letter, resting atop it. Later. Her finger's trailed gently over the soft feathers and leather of the Dreamcatcher. Faded, old, but she could tell, infused with love. Their love, once. 

"I'll follow the instructions he left me. I may have been upset with him, but I'm not callous. I wanted to hate him for so long that I convinced myself I did," The words poured from her, cleansing. "But I don't. I don't hate him. I never could. I loved him. He was all I had, once," As she spoke, her words debilitated into a soft sob. 

"Thanks for respecting his wishes. That's all I ask. Here's my card. If you change your mind about wanting anything. Just give me a ring. I'll, uh, be going now," Courteously, he placed the business card on the table, took his coat, and left Emma alone to finally cry freely as she sank into the chair. 

* * *

It was late before Emma finally mustered the gumption to read the second letter, much less even had the time, after the fiasco with Whale that night. She'd sequestered herself in her office, going over every inch of paperwork she could. Then she'd made hot chocolate - extra on the cinnamon - and commenced several last ditch efforts at stalling. Going through the filing cabinet, organizing her desk and sharpening the pencils. Finally, there was nothing left between Emma and the letter. 

By the end of the lengthy read (it too had been handwritten) Emma wasn't sure what she believed anymore. The drawings were spread out before her, and her hot chocolate had long run cold. In fact, she was contemplating pouring herself a stiffer drink. Bourbon or maybe some whiskey...

The first charcoal drawing had been, as he'd stated, the one of her, from ages ago, smiling and happy, her hair in a pony and her eyes framed by the dark glasses. And then there were the others. They were quite obviously the oldest ones, worn at the corners, and yellowed. 

The oldest was of a woman, dark, less detailed than the others. There were no labels on any of them that she could see. Perhaps she was Neal's mother.  
Next, a man. A very, very familiar man. But in the clothing of a peasant, with timid eyes and a staff, but a kind smile. She hardly recognized him for those traits, but it was very obviously Mr. Gold. A man that Neal named _father_ and _Rumplestiltskin_ in his letter. 

There were other drawings of places she'd never seen, very obviously Enchanted Forest locations, one of a younger girl, perhaps a childhood friend, ones of creatures and castles, and even modern architecture. The Portland Library where they had spent so much of their time, the bug, a wooded scene.

Finally, Emma had uncovered several self portraits of Neal himself, she'd assumed, at varying ages, by the close likeness some of the had to Henry. Neal had never drawn himself smiling, Emma noted, and that was the most stark difference between father and son. The Neal Emma remembered had smiled often, but could be quite serious at the best of times too. She no longer wondered at the trait. 

Emma gathered the artwork up, hesitating. He'd told her to do what she thought prudent. She could keep them, she could burn them, she could tell his father, though he'd expressly stated that it wasn't desirable. Biting her lip, she set aside a few of the portraits. And then a few of the scenery. The rest of them followed into the keep pile, as Emma found herself both unwilling and unable to burn them. 

Instead, she opened her desk drawer, where she found Whale's flask and poured herself a glass of whiskey, knocking it back quickly before packing up and finally heading home to bed. The exhaustion, both physically and emotionally throughout the day, had been taxing, and she welcomed the black release of slumber. 

* * *

The last thing Emma had expected or wanted was for Mr. Gold to knock at their door. Henry had just finished explaining his theory about the Dark Curse and Dr. Frankenstein when the interruption had made himself known. 

"Gold," She began, not about to resort to pleading, and unready to face the man now that she knew of his connection to Henry's father. "We've all had a long night-"

"You remember that favor you owe me, Miss Swan? I'm cashing it in," There was no room for argument in his tone.

Surprised, Emma backpedaled. " It's not a good—"

"You do honor your agreements, don't you?" He asked brusquely. "I need to find someone, so we’re leaving today. Pack your bag,"

"Leaving?" Snow piped up, a small frown forming on her face.

Henry too, voiced his curiosity. "Where?" 

"Wait. Find someone? Who?" Even as Emma asked the question, she felt her stomach plummeting, the answer as clear as day. 

"My son. It has to be today, because every minute I’m here, is a minute closer to me killing Hook. So it’s really best for all concerned if I leave, and you’re going to come with me. Oh, and, um, we have a long history. So know this, and know it to be true. If any harm comes to Belle while I’m gone, I’m killing all of you. I’ll see you at noon," Gold turned and stalked out the door, but Emma, much to the surprise of her parents and Henry, dashed up the stairs to grab the sketchbook and letter before flying back down the stairs and out the door after him. 

"Gold! Wait!" He didn't slow. "Rumplestiltskin!" She uttered with determined finality and utter frustration. "Listen goddamn it! There's no point! There's no point in going wherever you're going,"

"And why ever would that be, dearie? I aim to find my son, and I am not going to stand by and-"

"Because he's dead, Gold," She thrust the letter at his chest. Stunned, Rumplestiltskin clutched at it, unable to move, allowing Emma time to open up the sketch book. "This is your son, right? Baelfire?" She shuffled through the many self portraits, younger to older. "This is you?" She held up the drawing of the peasant with the same unmistakable visage. "If you read that letter, you'll know. He wrote it for me. I just got it yesterday, when the lawyer was in town, executing his will. Your son was shot," Emma's voice cracked and tears began to blind her again as she raved at him, the sketchbooks pages spilling out onto the floor. "You son was shot and killed a month ago, in his Manhattan apartment! He was shot and killed by a woman who claimed to love him! He knew the curse was broken and he didn't come! He didn't come..." She trailed off, her energy spent, slumping against the wall. 

Rumplestiltskin looked from the letter in his hands, to the drawings scattered at his feet, to Emma's forlorn figure, cheeks stained with tears. 

"You knew my son? How do you know my son!" Rumplestiltskin's voice, which had started deadly quiet had escalated to an unbounded rage as he demanded answers."Tell me!" 

The disturbance they had created had drawn Emma's family into the hall. They watched on, stunned as Emma slowly trained her glance on Rumplestiltskin, moving as if there was an ache in her bones that would never go away. 

"I loved him," Wearily, she blinked out the tears. "I loved him," The anguish in her voice was tangible. 

Rumplestiltskin was shaking with rage, with agony. He fell to his knees, and reached out to touch the likeness of his son, but stopped his shaky fingertips an inch from the paper, reverent. 

"Baelfire," Rumplestiltskin fairly whimpered, his voice quavering. "My Bae," 

Emma looked away in shameful grief as Mr. Gold wept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grieving is a processes, into which ones surroundings must inevitably factor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was either finish this, or update the Married AU. I've wrote for the Married AU, but i'm not even close on that, and I was more than three fourths through with this, so I barreled through.

from Jess: Oh I like this is there more? Maybe where they find out that Henry is Neal's son

from eevylynn: ;______; Is she going to tell Henry? Is she going to tell Gold about him having a grandson? You have to continue this! You can't just leave me hanging! Seriously though, awesome story. Sad but beautiful.

from steampunk-archer: I hate it but I love it, I want more. Like some realization that gold is family and all that jazz

Some direct lines used from Manhattan and Quiet Minds.

* * *

In the end, they went to Manhattan anyways. They were on the flight, Henry quietly reading beside her, Gold brooding out the window next to him. Emma breathed in deeply, and closed her eyes. The past six hours, give or take, had been hell.

Everything had come to a head that morning, after her confrontation with Mr. Gold.

_Emma had only sat limply against the wall, watching as the father mourned his son. Minutes had passed, but to Emma it had felt like an eternity before he struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane in the process. Then, without another word, he'd shuffled away down the hall and out of Emma's sight._

_Her parents and Henry were still standing in confused shock at the other end of the hall. She couldn't face them. She couldn't explain. She'd wept herself, the day before, in the privacy of her office, but suddenly the reality of it all was settling in her stomach in a way it hadn't then. Neal was dead. He was never coming back. She'd never scream her accusations at him, never pull him into a fierce hug, never see a bright smile break across his face again. Gone. Dead._

_She'd thought that hearing he was dead would have finally enabled her to truly move on, to let go of the possibility of him, but now, more than ever, Emma wanted nothing less to have him back, mad as she'd been, and a lingering bit still was._

_Eventually, Emma gathered meagre strength enough to lift herself off the floor to collect the fallen papers. Gold had dropped the letter when he'd left, and she scooped that up too, tucking everything back into the sketchbook. Pressing it tight to her chest, Emma stood, already completely exhausted, and the day had barely begun.  She walked, slow, emotionless past her staring family and into the loft, up the stairs where her bedroom awaited her. She crawled onto her bed, and curled into a ball on top of the covers, still clutching the sketchbook tightly. For an hour, she laid there, her back to the doorway, unmoving, before she detected the presence of her mother suddenly standing there, watching. She knew it was Mary Margret, knew the gentle weight she threw as she walked. Emma pictured her mother, leaning against the doorframe, raven hair showing starkly against the white painted wood._

_"Emma," Gently and tentative, the older woman breathed softly, her word barely carrying across the expanse of the room. "Emma please talk to me," There was a dip in the mattress and Emma knew that her mother was now sitting beside her, perched on the edge of the bed. "What happened?"_

_Emma didn't answer Snow immediately, focusing instead on breathing, in and out, shallow and even. Her eyes were open, trained at a single spot on the wall. If she closed her eyes, his face would haunt her, and Emma couldn't bare that._

_"Henry told us that a Lawyer from out of town came by the Sheriff's department yesterday," Snow continued._

_"Devin Thompson, Manhattan Law," Emma managed quietly. "Here to execute a will,"_

_"You knew Rumplestiltskin's son," It was a statement, not a question. Emma gave a bitter laugh._

_"I guess so. But I didn't know him as Gold's son. His name was Neal Cassidy," At the utterance of his name, her voice hitched. Snow placed a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder and but she flinched away._

_Thoughtfully, Snow began again. "He must have been a close friend," A pause. "I'm sorry, Emma,"_

_Her mother's attempt at comfort only made Emma's next words all the more difficult._

_"He was Henry's father," Emma barely spoke the words above a whisper, timid._

_"Emma?" Snow's reaction was coloured in surprise as well as the by now regular hint of confusion._

_"I thought I hated him. I wanted to hate him. But I loved him. I always loved him," Emma broke down, sobbing and suddenly, before she could react, Snow had gathered her up and was rocking Emma in her arms, gentle and tender._

_"He's Henry's father and I never told him. He didn't know, he didn't know! And now he's gone and he'll never-" She let loose her hold on the sketchbook, and threw her arms around her mother in uncaring abandon, seeking relief in her comfort like she'd never before had._

_"Shhh," Snow hushed. "Oh, Emma, oh baby I'm so, so sorry,"_

_When Emma finally recovered herself and pulled back, she couldn't look Snow in the eye. Instead, she ran the back of her hand across her face, drying her tears, and looked at the bedding._

_"What are you going to do?" Snow's words felt heavy in the room._

_Emma looked up and their eyes met. Sure that she looked as terrible as she felt, Emma struggled to hold back her volatile emotions, and forced herself to speak._

_"I don't know. I shouldn't be leaving right now, what with everything going on here, but..."_

_"Go. David and I can handle things here. We've got it covered," A tentative pause fell between them, and Snow looked unsure. "Will you tell Henry?"_

_"I have to...I have to tell Henry. And Gold. I have to explain things to him. It's what's right,"_

_"Do you want me to send him in?"_

_Emma smiled weakly. "In a bit. Tell him to get packed. I need to...I'll pack too. I need time to compose myself,"_

_"Alright," Snow looked for a moment like she wanted desperately to hug her daughter, but settled instead for lifting a hand to her golden hair, taking the loose strand and tucking it behind her ear before exiting the room with swift grace._

_Half an hour later, Emma was finally ready to speak with her son. She pushed her hair back, then thought better and took a brush to it before peeking out the door. As she padded through the loft, Emma noted the quiet, subdued nature. By now Mary Margret had certainly told David. The blonde came to a stop by Henry's door._

_"Hey kiddo, can I talk to you?" She asked, plucking up her courage. Her hands stuffed into her pockets as she leaned casually against the doorway. Henry turned away from his suitcase to look at her. His expression was wary, and anxious worry radiated from him._

_"Are you okay, Mom? Why are we going to Manhattan?" He asked. Emma walked over to him, and sat on the bed. She patted the space next to her gently, and he joined her._

_"Henry, do you remember what I told you about your Dad?"_

_"Yeah. You said he was a fireman. That he died. Why?" Not yet suspicious, Henry turned wide, innocent eyes to his mom._

_"I lied, Henry. I lied, and I shouldn't have. And now, I know that I'll regret it forever. The man who died, Henry, the man whose lawyer was here yesterday, to take care of the will...He was your father,"_

_"But you said that it was Mr. Gold's son who died. I heard you! In the hall," He was indignant, but there was a frantic worry growing behind his eyes._

_"He's both Henry. He was Gold's son, but he's also your father. I didn't know. I didn't know until yesterday. I just thought he was Neal Cassidy," She hung her head._

_"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" Henry asked. Emma sighed, picking her words carefully._

_"Because I never thought I would see him again. I never wanted to,"_

_"Why not?"_

_"He was a thief, Henry. A liar, a bad guy, and he... he broke my heart," She paused, and Henry almost spoke but Emma continued. "That's what I knew. It's what I believed. I wanted to spare you...I wanted to spare me. It was a part of my life I wanted to forget. But I only knew part of it, Henry. I didn't know everything. He may have been a thief, and a liar, but so was I. In the will, he left me a letter Henry, and I believe what he wrote there was the truth," The conviction in her voice warred with her rising emotions. "He was a good man. And he would have been a great father," Emma choked back a sob, and pulled Henry close to her. "There’s one thing I need you to know about him. If he'd known, he would have loved you, Henry. He would have loved you more than anything,"_

_"I wish, I would have known him," Henry sounded small, and altogether too young. Emma held him tightly._

_"Me too," Then, in a whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,"_

_After a few moments of silence, Emma and Henry finished packing and drove over the Pawn Shop without much further ado. They spoke little._

_"Gold, Gold! Where are you?" Emma, Henry in tow, called as she entered the shop. There was no response, but they rounded the corner to the back room and found the man sitting on his cot, looking utterly forlorn. It was the same way he had looked when he left their apartment building earlier that day. At his feet lay a suitcase, presumably one he'd packed before he even left to see them._

_"What could you possibly want, Miss Swan," The statement held none of the venom Emma expected._

_"We're going to New York. You, me and Henry,"_

_"And why would that be? As you so gently revealed to me, my son is dead," The sarcasm restored a little of Emma's hope._

_"Because it's what's right. He was your son. He was my..." She let the sentence trail and end. "He was Henry's father, and we should go to Manhattan because it's the right thing to do," Mr. Gold looked up, shocked, at her statement._

_"Henry's..."_

_Emma only nodded in response._

From there the trip to the airport had been the most uncomfortable of Emma's life. Just getting through security was a bear, and she had to explain away Gold's desperate behaviour with Neal's death. It was at least halfway the truth and Emma knew that he wasn't letting go of the cane or the shawl without murdering someone in the process.

Thus, the relative calm and quiet of the plane was only a mild relief.

Emma exhaled the breath she'd taken in, and prepared herself for the rest of the ride, condemned to the privacy of her own thoughts.

She'd briefly contacted Devin Thompson beforehand, explaining about both Henry and Gold, the latter in vague detail. He was understanding, and offered to pick them up at the airport. Devin even went so far as to offer his home for a place to stay, but Emma had been hesitant. By the end of the phone call, they'd decided nothing except that they'd go to Neal's grave that day, and the next would be saved for visiting his apartment to go through those things left behind.

Devin was waiting for them when they arrived. Getting off the plane was far easier than getting on had been. The sign he held read. "Emma Swan and Family," and Henry made a beeline for the man who had known his father so well.

"Hi Mr. Thompson, " Henry stated, as if he were torn between sullen melancholy and excitement.

"Hello Henry," Devin crouched down to the boy's height. "You look so much like him," A hand fell on the boys shoulder, gripping firmly. "I've got whole albums full of photos for you, anything you want,"

Henry nodded seriously, and Devin stood again.

"Even if you don't stay the night, you're all invited for dinner. I insist," he looked directly at Emma, before allowing his gaze to rest on Mr. Gold, to whom he only nodded.

Surprisingly enough, to Emma, Gold nodded back cordially. The drive was miraculously silent, even Henry remaining lost in thought. Half an hour later they pulled into a private lot. Then, still silent, the trio exited the car and entered an elevator.

Before long, they were standing in a hall outside the apartment in question. They entered and the first words since the airport were spoken.

"Rebecca, Emmy, I'm home,"

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Gold flinch and Henry balk in surprise. A little girl ran forward. She was about seven, they could see.

'Daddy!"

"Hi, Emmy,"

"Who're they?"

"This is Henry, your Uncle Neal's son, this father, Mr. Gold and Henry's mother," Devin paused. "Emma Swan,'

"Oh, we have the same name!" She smiled at Emma but her face fell and she looked to Henry. 'I'm sorry, Henry, about your dad," The little girl sniffed and a tear leaked out.

"Alright, hmmm, let's go find your mom,"

Dinner was awkward and Emma felt like she was being scrutinized. She wanted nothing more than to leave but offered to help with the cleaning and washing dishes anyways. In the meantime, Henry went with Devin, Mr. Gold and young Emma to the living room.

"You could go with them,” Rebecca said. "I can handle the dishes on my own,"

"It’s fine. I need a respite. I can't...I just need some time-"

"-to breath? I understand. Back when I was in college, my mother died. All I ever felt like was being alone. I escaped into my art. Many of the pieces you see around the house are ones I did then. Memories of my mother infused in the paint and glaze. It helps, having an outlet, a hobby. I still do it now, when work gets too stressful, when I hear something bad in the news. What do you have?"

"I..." Emma faltered. What did she have? Since she left Boston, she'd had a lot more stress. But even before then, what did she have?

"I used to play video games. Just some mindless fun. Now I don't have anything," She realized aloud.

"Reclaim it, or find something else. Read a book, write poetry. Just find something for you and you alone. Kickboxing maybe. It'll keep you sane,"

Rebecca handed Emma a plate to dry.

"You can ask me anything. I was Neal's friend too. He introduced Devin and me, so he was my friend for a couple years before I was married, before I even meet my husband. He told me things, especially when I needed to hear them. He never told me your name, but he talked about you. I knew when he suggested that we name our daughter Emma. We never talked about it though,'

"How did you meet him?"

"Art class. Figure drawing. I was a student and he was the teacher,"

"Figures. Did he show you his art?" she asked, bemused.

"Never,"

They finished the dishes, chatting easily. Emma relished in the feeling. She hadn't done anything similar in so long that she'd forgotten that normal even existed. When the last dish was dry, Rebecca shooed Emma out of the kitchen and into the family room.

Henry and Emmy sat with Devin on the couch, Mr. Gold in a chair to the side. She walked up behind and looked down. Eyes she hadn't seen in years met hers and she flinched back.

A photo album. She reproved herself; she shouldn't have been surprised.

His hair was shorter than she remembered, still dark but with a hint of silver. His smiling eyes were still framed by deep crow’s feet, his grin still boyish and full of charm.

Instantly, her heart broke all over again. How many times could her heart break for one man?

Emma's breath must have hitched, because Henry slammed the photo album shut in surprise.

"Mom!" Neal's eyes looked up at her from her son, and Emma felt herself breakdown. She shut her eyes tight and breathed in through her nose. "I-"

"The dishes are done," She said to the group, cutting off Henry bluntly.

"Right," Standing, Devin took easy control over the situation. "So we can head over to the cemetery now, and figure out the rest from there. If you want to find a hotel, or if you'd prefer to stay here. I'll let you think on it,"

Time was a muddle for Emma after that, and before she felt like she'd blinked, the car ride was over and she was the only one left in the vehicle. Henry knocked on her window, and mechanically, Emma opened her door in response.

Devin took the lead, the only one who knew where the grave was. Stopping a ways off, he pointed. "It's that one,"

Gold walked off first, his stride amazingly steady and determined. For one short moment he stood tall in front of his son's grave, before collapsing lamely in front of it, in a sobbing heap.

Emma turned away. Henry, thinking only of his newly discovered grandfather, immediately went to Gold's side.

Devin stayed by Emma, but watched on as Grandfather and Grandson paid vigil.

She was still facing away when he put his hand gently on her shoulder.

"Henry and Gold are returning. If you want to pay your respects..."

Sharply, she nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

As she walked towards the indicated spot, Emma kept her eyes trained on the ground; she didn't want to see Henry looking at her. She could feel his eyes on her as it was.

She didn't stop walking until she saw upturned ground.

Neal's final resting place.

Tentatively, aware that once she did, everything would finally be real, Emma looked up at the marker stone.

In Loving Memory of

NEAL B. CASSIDY

Died March 18th 2012

I hope it is true that a man can die and yet

not only live in others but give them life,

and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.

                                                              Jack Kerouac

Emma's nose wrinkled. The Kerouac quote didn't surprise her in the least, but the lack of a birthdate was strange. True they'd never celebrated each other's birthdays, but that didn't mean they didn't have any. Of course, when he'd said that the information on his wanted poster was falsified, she'd assumed he meant other things, not his birthdate. Now she'd never know. Knowing what she did now, Emma supposed that Neal might not have even known how old he was, much less the date he'd been born. The date he had died, however, was now immortalized in stone.

Her mouth quivered as she tried desperately to hold her lips pursed, immovable. She failed.

Silently, tears began to stream down her cheeks again. This time, she was quiet in her grief.

Many moments she stood there until the last of twilight waned.

"Goodbye," Her whisper was lost to the wind, carried away on the breeze.

It was real, but her heart still hurt. Her chest felt tight, but Emma steeled herself.

She turned and walked away.

* * *

It was quickly decided that they would go over to Neal's apartment right away, with the several decent hours left. Henry interspersed the silence with occasional questions about Neal, innocuous questions that pulled desperately at Emma's heartstrings, tightening them so far she thought they might snap.

Arriving at the apartment was a strange mix of relief and trepidation. The building wasn't particularly run down, but neither was it up kept, as most average apartments seemed to be in New York.

How long had he lived there? Henry asked.

Five Years. Devin had provided the answer.

Five long years he'd lived in that small hellhole. It didn't look like home.  It didn't look like someplace Neal would miss if he left. There was no name on his buzzer, no true personal affects. Those had already been removed, given to Emma. There was nothing in the place that Emma desired. Nothing.

Henry, it seemed was a different matter. He was curious about the place in which his father had lived, and began immediately to investigate all corners available to him.

When he came back, Emma still hadn't moved. Gold and Devin had meandered around, Gold mostly touching things reverently, as if he could mirror the same motions his son had made day to day.  Henry ran up to her, holding something tightly in his hand.

"Dad has a whole collection of scarves! Can I...do you think I could...?"

Emma nodded, forcing a smile. "Sure kid. I'm sure no one would mind,"

Amidst all of her own inner turmoil, Emma hadn't taken time to really pay attention to Henry's reaction to the matter. To the revelation. He didn't seem saddened...just quiet, and a bit shy, but also excited enough to learn new things. He didn't, she kept forgetting, know Neal. Indeed, Henry had zero emotional connection with even the idea of a father. It was as if, in the long run, Neal would have had no impact on Henry's life.

The realization left Emma shell-shocked.

Neal's absence had forever shaped Henry's life, but he would never have a chance to influence it with his presence.

It rocked her so much and so suddenly, that she had to sit down on the couch.

"Mom, are you okay?"  Henry hovered at her shoulder, a worried look flitting across his face so similar to one that she'd seen grace Neal's face long, long ago in Portland.  Taking his arm, and guiding him to sit next to her, Emma brought Henry's chin up, locking their gazes.

"If you ever have a question about him, anything, you just ask," The statement surprised even Emma herself, the amount of conviction there had a presence of its own, and she wasn't sure from where it came.  Henry's brow furrowed, serious.

"Are you sure Mom?" The question wavered between them.

"Anything,"

Henry left again, walking away once he seemed sure that she would be alright, and Devin circled back to the couch where Emma rested.

"You doing alright?" The couch sunk under his additional weight. 

"I don't know," The answer she gave was honest, and Devin nodded, expecting nothing more. What he hadn't expected was for Emma to continue speaking.

"He was everything to me, once. He was all I had. And to Henry he's nothing. I don't know if I can live with that.  What if Henry never knows how much Neal liked Pumpkin Pie? What if I forgot? What if I forgot the name of his favourite book, or if I couldn't remember how he phrased something and Henry asks? What will I do? I never... I never thought that I'd have to. I told Henry he was dead so that I didn't have to think about him and now that he really is I-"

The words choked in her throat.

"I miss him,"

_That's how you know you've really got a home. Cause when you leave it, there's this feeling that you can't shake. You just miss it._

"I miss everything about him. But most of all I miss everything I never got to have,"

And with that, Emma stood, and walked out.  Henry rounded the corner, and, seeing the dumbfounded Devin sitting alone asked "Where'd my mom go?"

Devin shook his head wearily.

"She needed some air Henry," He said heavily. "It'll be alright. You keep looking for things you may want alright? You have any questions you just ask,"

Henry nodded quickly before darting back around the corner. Gold and his cane thumped up to the couch, stopping directly before Devin.

Neal's friend wasn't sure what to make of the man that called himself Neal's father. He was quiet, intense and sour looking. Devin couldn't quite tell if he was that way on a permanent basis or if it was the news of his sons' death, which prompted the look.

Devin looked up.

Gold said nothing.

* * *

Hours passed and Emma didn't return. Eventually, Gold gathered Henry and they mutually agreed to stay the night in Neal's old apartment. And Devin would return the next morning to finish up any last matters of business. After Henry was safely in bed, Gold saw Devin to the door, but paused, before speaking.

"If Miss Swan isn't back tomorrow morning..."

"I'll look for her," Devin assured the man, and turned once more to go, but Neal's father spoke again.

"His name was Baelfire, you know. Bae,"

Devin nodded minutely at the man, in deference, and then slipped out the door.

When he reached the main entryway, he found Emma. She was sitting on the bench, staring out at nothing.

"Henry's worried about you. He and Neal's dad are going to stay the night in the apartment though. We put the kiddo to bed already,"

Emma didn't respond, so Devin sat down next to her in silence.

"I was never really sure if he loved Tamara or not," Devin stated simply, after several minutes had passed. "They started dating about a year ago. They bumped into one another on the street and her coffee spilled all over the both of them. Got engaged a month ago. Rebecca told me that she thought he was moving too fast. Rebecca always knew him better than me, knew more of him, I guess. He talked to her about stuff that he wouldn't with me. I don't know what he said or did that made her feel that way, but Rebecca seemed concerned. I just wish that we'd..." He stopped, trying to compose himself, and when he looked back up, Emma was watching him.

"I'm going to go to the arraignment. The trial's going to be big. He worked for a law firm, so it's pretty much guaranteed. Her lawyer is with someone upstate. No one around here would represent her,"

"Everyone liked him," Emma interjected matter of factly, almost emotionless.

"Right. Exactly. He was well known in legal circles. Damn good accountant," Devin shook his head mournfully. "Damn good man,"

"He was a thief,"

Devin looked up, surprised, but waited for Emma to continue.

"We met when I stole his stolen car. He was napping in the back seat. We were both homeless. Just kids. But he was charismatic and down to earth and just...kind. He had this enthusiasm - it was catching. He could make me think that everything would be okay just with a smile and I believed him. He'd knocked over this jewelry store before I'd met him, made off with a  bunch of watches and stashed them until the heat died down. We were finally going to go straight, but we needed some cash, so he went to fence the watches," She looked down at her hands, clasping and unclasping them, desperately, the calm of her voice now twinged with an edge of pain. "I never saw him again. I didn't know what had happened. Then the cops came and arrested me. I found out I was pregnant while I was in jail,"

Devin took everything in while she composed herself, trying to imagine his friend the way Emma had described him.

"He told me what happened in the letter. I believe it too. I know it's true. He was blackmailed into leaving me by someone who knew my birth parents. He was telling Neal the truth, but in the end he was just a con artist and a jerk. I...It wasn't really Neal's fault. August is the one who called the cops. It was too late, and Neal was scared and I...I don't blame him anymore,"

A pause. Devin held his breath.

"I just wish I could tell him that,"

Another several minutes passed in semi-awkward silence before Devin shuffled, searching his coat pocket for a notepad and pen. He wrote for a couple moments, and Emma dutifully tried to ignore him, watching stray cars pass by until he made to hand over the paper.

"These are the court dates, if you want to be there," The lawyer began. "We'll get justice,"

The blonde woman didn't respond, not that Devin had expected her to, so he stood, and made his way to the car before driving off into the night.

* * *

They'd been back in Storybrooke for a month and Emma was still thinking about the slip of paper in her jacket pocket. It burned a hole there, every day. Henry was his same old self, except sometimes he took her up on her offer of answering Neal related questions. Rumplestiltskin was more subdued than he'd been before, but Belle was an immense support. Emma mostly tried to avoid Henry's Grandfather, as best as she could. Somehow, things in Storybrooke calmed down. Greg Mendel had mysteriously disappear from the town altogether. In checking his room, they found several things left behind, including a letter stating that 'she' had been arrested and he'd better get his ass 'back', whoever 'she' was and wherever 'back' might be. So things were calm.

The arraignment date was closing in on her. Three days, and the woman who had killed Neal would be on trial for murder in the first degree. Unasked for, Devin had kept her updated on the pre-trial progress. He knew the prosecutor (another colleague of his and Neal's but more an acquaintance than a friend) and had dutifully passed on any information the other man had provided.

Secretly, she was glad of it, though she never responded to any of Devin's emails.

Emma was still lost in thought when Snow padded quietly up behind her.

"Everything okay?"

In truth, her parents had tiptoed around her ever since she'd gotten back from Manhattan. They could tell that she was anything but okay, and it bothered them, but they still seemed hesitant to parent her, especially considering the situation. Emma appreciated their reluctance.

"Devin Thompson gave me the court dates before I left Manhattan. Said he'd put me on the list. It's a closed trial, so you need permission to get in," She explained, needlessly.

"Will you go?"

Her mother asked the very question Emma hadn't wanted to hear, but she knew the answer anyways.

"Yes. I might be gone a while," Frowning, Emma bit her lip. "I need to see this through,"

"Okay. Are you going to take Henry?"

Emma shook her head.

"No. A trial like this...it won't be...it won't be pretty. There will be pictures. Uncensored pictures. Testimonies. I can't-"

"Not to court, Emma. With you. Are you going to take him to New York with you?"

"You'll take care of him, right?"

"Of course," Her mother answered, sighing. "Always,"

* * *

Emma wore black to the arraignment. A skirt and blouse with sateen heels from her days in bail bonds. She'd had to make more than one court appearance back then.  It seemed right, after all, to wear black. She seated herself in the middle on the prosecution side, waiting quietly as a few people shuffled in. Devin was already there, looking lawyerly, but for the black shirt. All black. Black suit, black shirt, black tie. He sat in the first row, and from the set of his shoulders Emma could tell he was tense.

She started when a woman sat down next to her, and looked up in surprise.

"Rebecca!" She exclaimed quietly.

"Hello Emma," Devin's wife smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "We weren't sure you'd come, but I'm glad you're here. A couple of other people might sit by us. I hope that's alright. We haven't and won't say anything to them,"

"Neal's friends,"

"Yes,"

They sat together in pensive quiet, waiting. Four people came to sit by them in the next several minutes, and no one spoke to Emma, but gave Rebecca hugs, all looking stoic. Three men and two women, Emma noted. Later a fifth joined. Another woman.

There was a general buzz of murmuring talk but when the door opened from the side and the Judge walked in, and they announce 'all stand for the honourable sic.' the crowd immediately hushed.

And then, the defendant was brought in.

Discretely, Rebecca's hand took hers and Emma was so far gone she didn't even feel ashamed when she gripped the other woman's hand in a crushing hold. Her heart felt like it would burst, and she felt overwarm. Leaning into her, Rebecca whispered in her ear.

"It's okay, Emma,"

Rebecca squeezed her hand back and Emma had to bite her cheek to keep from breaking down.

Tamara was beautiful. Perfectly put together in a two-piece skirt suit, hair in an updo. As she turned to be seated, Emma caught a glimpse of her eyes and saw nothing there but steel, cold and heartless and unwelcoming.

Neal had almost married this woman.  Emma had learned how to read people well, even if she didn't really have a superpower to tell if someone was lying. It was just psychology. People had ticks, and she could read them and people well. And this woman didn't have a kind bone in her body.

She thought back to what Devin had said that night on the bench, about wondering if Neal really loved Tamara or not. Wondering what he'd seen in her, why Neal had started the relationship in the first place. Hindsight was 20/20, Emma knew, and Devin and Rebecca would live with that for the rest of their lives.

Emma let her thoughts drift away and tuned back into the proceedings.

The charges were read, murder in the first degree and Tamara pled not guilty.

 The arraignment ended and Emma left with Rebecca, silently fuming. They waited a while for Devin to join them, Neal's other friends looking curiously on, but leaving on their own. When Rebecca's husband finally arrived, Emma let everything out.

"How dare she plead not guilty!"

"Emma," Rebecca started, but Devin held up his hand.

"She doesn't have a case. It'll all be over soon. Trust me. All the evidence condemns her. There's nothing to help her out,"

They left then, for the Thompson's home, where Emma would be staying. But Devin's reassurances fell apart when the lawyer in charge informed them that there was someone else coming forward to testify in Tamara's favour, but that they didn't know who.

When the next court date arrived, Emma, who had been in utter shambles, was chillingly stoic. Fierce in her defense of Neal, Emma had put herself shakily back together for the duration of the trial, and was praying that the facade would hold. She wore her hair in a severe bun, wore all black again, unconsciously hoping to make an impression. Among Neal's friends, she already had. The Thompsons had eventually introduced her as an old friend of Neal's from 'back home'. No other explanation was asked for, or given.

But truly, it was Tamara whose eye Emma irrationally hoped she'd catch. Make the cruel woman wonder who it was who wore all black, who looked utterly untouchable, with a look that could kill and heels to match. It was a look she'd adopted for court cases in the past and wearing it made her feel utterly impenetrable.

That was the case, at least, until the mystery person was called forward to testify. Emma's stomach dropped and she stopped breathing for a moment, automatically startling Rebecca, who still held her hand at every reconvening.

It was Greg Mendel.

* * *

When they had filed outside, Emma allowed herself to fume. Her dark look wasn't easily missed, and Devin approached, concerned.

"Something wrong?"

"I knew him. Greg Mendel. He's the one who was in the car accident the night before you showed up with Neal's will," The venom in her voice was biting. "He's involved in this somehow, I know it. And I am going to find out how," Suddenly, she turned. "Can you get me in to see Tamara? I know I can get it out of her, how he's involved. I can help!"

Devin shook his head. "I don't know if I can, much less if you should," Emma was about to protest, but he held up a hand. "I'll see what I can do,"

* * *

"Who are you and what do you want?" Tamara asked her, sitting, chained to the table in an orange jump suit.

"My name is Ruth Nolan. I'm in bail bonds and I'm just looking for some information on someone...a certain Greg Mendel,"

Tamara's forehead wrinkled.

"You want information on Greg?"

"I followed him to Maine a while ago. Drove around for ages trying to find his trail in those woods. Nada. Then, all of the sudden-" Emma leaned her hands on the table, placing all her weight on them, as she looked down at the other woman. "-he's here, in New York, right after you're arrested. Curious, isn't it? You're arrested and then he's at your beck and call?"

"It's what good boyfriends do," Tamara sneered. Emma was thankful at her many careful years working in bail bonds that she was able to school her features. "What do you want to know?"

"What was he looking for up there?" Emma asked, keeping with her plan.

The other woman shrugged. "His Dad. He was looking for his Dad,"

Emma smiled ruthlessly. "Thanks for the tip,"

She knocked on the door, and the guard came to let her out. Fuming all the way towards the parking lot, Emma mulled over everything she knew. Tamara was definitely involved with whatever Mendel had been up to in Storybrooke, and, somehow, Neal had ended up in the crossfire. Were they playing him for money? For something to do with his father? Emma was certain that she'd never know, being that she was unable to further involve Storybrooke in the trial. 

But there was the letter, and she was the Sherriff.

"So? What happened?" Devin asked her when they were in the car.

"She let slip that Greg Mendel is her boyfriend. Which means that-"

"Neal was being played," Devin sighed heavily. "Damn. It'll be good in the case against her but, I just wish that we'd have been able to find this out before it was too late,"

Emma nodded and, after a moment, added, "Me too. Do you think that you could recommend me to the prosecuting lawyer? I have something incriminating that Mendel probably didn't mean to leave behind. I can have my deputy send it up here under official procedures. I'll testify. Anything that can help,"

"Right. I'll make the arrangements," He turned to her briefly, before retuning his attention to the road.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just...He was a mess. I mean, really. Before Tamara, I couldn't even get him to go on a date. I don't know what was different. Suddenly he was going out with her every weekend and then she was spending nights and then he was ring shopping and I don't know. I kept asking myself how I could have missed it, that she was this terrible, horrific person. That she didn't love him. But I know why. Rebecca and I were just so happy that he was moving on. I don't know what you've talked about with Rebecca, but he always told her things that he wouldn't tell me. Maybe he talked to her about you, I don't know. He never said anything to me. Had plenty of women admirers. Ladies like a gentleman. Neal was always that, but he never tried to get close to any of them. Not once,"

Emma shifted in the seat, uncomfortable at the implication.

"He loved you. I think he was just desperate to move on, finally. He threw himself into the relationship with her. He was drowning in it," Sticking a hand awkwardly in his pocket, Devin rummaged around for something. "Remember I said that I was told how to find you by directions on a postcard? I never thought to give it to you. There's no postmark, but, maybe there's some significance there that will only be clear to you,"

Taking it from his hands, Emma studied the post card. Emblazoned on it was the name Storybrooke next to a photograph of the clock tower. She turned it over. On the back, written in permanent marker, was the word BROKEN.

"I know the handwriting. But I'm not sure I understand... I need to make a call,"

Quickly, ignoring Devin, Emma pulled out her cell and phoned David.

"Emma?" He picked up after three rings.

"Hey David, I need you to do a couple things for me. That letter we found in Mendel's room? Can you package it as evidence and process it officially and have it sent to me in New York?"

"Sure. What else?"

"August. I need you to find him and take him into custody. When you've got him, call me. I need to talk to him yesterday,"

"Understood. Take care, okay?" Worry filtered across the phone line. Emma smiled unenthusiastically.

"I will," She answered and hung up. Curious, Devin chanced a look over again.

"Who's August?"

"August W. Booth. Claims to be a writer. He's a pathological liar and an asshole. That's his handwriting on the postcard. I didn't even know he knew where Neal was, but some other things are starting to make more sense now. It would explain how he knew that Neal wouldn't show up and cause trouble a while back. August was sort of, impersonating Neal, trying to blackmail Neal's dad. It's a long story. All taken care of, I assure you. The farce didn't last long. Not much escapes Neal's dad. He picked up really quickly that August wasn't his son. Anyways, if he's involved in this he might be able to tell us more about Tamara and Greg,"

"Any lead is a good lead,"

"You've got that right,"

* * *

"State your name for the court,"

"Emma Ruth Swan,"

"And your relationship to this case,"

"I'm the Sherriff of a small town in Maine. Greg Mendel was causing problems there. I spoke with Tamara about him and she accidently let a pertinent detail pertaining to this case slip,"

"What was it?"

"She told me that Greg Mendel was her boyfriend,"

* * *

As Emma had expected, the defense was in shambles after her announcement. The prosecution had proceeded to procure the letter, showed it as evidence to the jury, made his case in a succinct five minutes, and then, the defense was called forward to question. Emma had done the dance before. She'd once heard that appearing for testimony was like running a two-man con, when working with your own side. After that, the 'poor schmuck' was on their own. That poor schmuck just happened to be her.

"Ms. Swan, how did you come to be aware of Greg Mendel's involvement in this case?"

It was only the first question and she was already caught unprepared. Especially when the truth wouldn't exactly fly.

"He was in a car accident near where I'm stationed. After he got out of the hospital, he'd booked a room at the local B&B. Then, he skipped town, without paying for his stay. We're a sleepy little town. Not much happens, really. I was initially here to ensure that he pay his outstanding fees," _Tell the truth_ , her conscious urged her. "When I tracked him here, I heard he was appearing in this case. It just so happens that I was a good friend of Neal Cassidy's some years ago. He was a good man, and I want him to get justice," _Close enough_.

The defense frowned. "No further questions,"

* * *

When she came out of the courtroom to meet up with Devin and Rebecca, she found them surrounded by the other of Neal's friends. One of the women, who was also an accountant, pounced on her.

"Okay, you were his good friend? I'm calling bullshit," She added under her breath, "You're an ex, aren't you?"

Emma stiffened, the tendons in her neck pulled taught.

Rebecca came to her rescue.

"Not now, not here and not like that, Andrea," She turned to Emma. "We're all going back to our place to have dinner and talk things over,"

That put an end to the conversation, at least for that moment. Emma didn't relish the thought of continuing it, but figured that she wasn't going to get a choice.

She was right.

After they'd finished dinner, Andrea brought it up again. It was like an unspoken rule, that important things could only be discussed after everyone had eaten. Emma pushed it off again.

"I've got to go call my son,"

Henry was always the best and most realistic excuse.

When she returned, the whole group stared at her. One of the men, whom she thought was Luke or Lyall or something, spoke first.

"We're not going to pressure you. We're just confused, that's all,"

The story came out little by little, and not much more. Emma offered no details, and they pressed for none. The barest of bones was all she was comfortable with diverging to these people who called themselves Neal's friends. Devin and Rebecca were so different, almost like Neal's family, and it was easy to be open with them. Emma honestly wasn't sure if it would ever be that way with anyone else when it came to Neal. It would always be the wound that never healed.

* * *

In the end, Tamara was given the maximum prison sentencing. Emma didn't cheer, or celebrate, or tear up. Neal was gone. Tamara had received life in a state penn, which was what they'd all been hoping for. Emma's jaw clenched shut. Neal was gone, and there was nothing that could fix that. Nothing at all. Not even the harshest punishment would bring him back.

The following day, Emma said goodbye to Devin and Rebecca, though it felt more temporary than final. Somehow, she'd managed to begin a tentative friendship with the couple. Henry would want to come back and visit Neal's grave, of course, and so it remained for the three to keep up contact.

When Emma finally left, it was with Greg Mendel handcuffed inside her Bug, and official transfer papers to process him as necessary through any transportation and, once they were back in Storybrooke, into the system. She didn't speak to him once through the drive, and he never attempted contact either.

They both knew what was coming. Emma would find out what he was up to in Storybrooke, and how it connected to Neal.

She'd see it through to the end. All those months ago when she'd first gotten his will, Emma had promised herself she'd see it through. Neal's case hadn't ended with the trial, not for her.

She had a promise to keep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know very little about trials. My mom's a legal secretary, but she did mostly insurance fraud. I tried to be vague so it wouldn't be inaccurate. Sorry.


End file.
